Wasn’t it just a short time ago that I was the teenager who started writing in your book? Your cover has shown the wear of the years. Once soft brown leather, without anything but natural flaws, you now show the wrinkles and marks, that daily use has bestowed upon you. I was often careless as I tossed you aside. Never a thank you for your offering of clean white paper where I could spill out all my feelings, hopes, dreams, and accomplishments.

You captured my accountings of flirting, and falling head over heels in love. I wrote you about the dates, homecoming, prom, first kiss, graduation, and then the proposal.

You cherish in your pages the memories of the walk down the isle. You know how I felt as my father gave me away. You know what I saw as I looked into my grooms eyes. You hold the vows. Every memory and thought of the honeymoon flows over your pages. Every joy and every heart ache, in the next 18 years, are contained in your body of leaves.

You know the amazing love I felt as I held each of my newborn baby sons. What can compare to the miracle of life. I write and then you know.

The years flee on and the battles come. You become my confidant and release, as I go through the divorce. Your white pages are filled with sorrow, and the years continue to march on.

I write to you the joys and sorrows of being a single mom. You witness through words, the boys growing through their teens and into manhood. You hold the history in words of their courtships and marriages. You have their family tree containing their children and grandchildren.

You mark the day that I received Jesus into my heart, and was saved.

Now here I sit, older and wiser, bringing you up to date. Tomorrow I work the last day of twenty years on my job. I will at 5 pm, be leaving another season of my life to start the rest of my life.

I still feel the teenager inside of me, even as I run my hands through my crop of white hair. I move slower and think slower. I contemplate on what I will do in this new season I am entering. Then I see the words pour out upon your pages, and I hear God whisper.

He says, “My child, I gift you with words. Now take them and make them a gift to Me”.

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